The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(157)

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I’ve got to take this.” He glanced around as if looking for some privacy. “I’ll be right back.”

As she watched him go out into the hall, his naked body was resplendent—and just the sight of his backside was enough to get her assessing whether or not she’d ever get the chance to be with him again.

Closing her eyes, she stretched herself and found an ache in her pelvis that had never been there before.

Yes, it had hurt some. But not enough to make her regret anything—or not want to do it again.

Something told her it wasn’t in her future, however.

She should have said something to him.

But there was no taking that decision back.





FIFTY-THREE


In the end, Wrath signed the goddamn dissolution proclamation.

His mother’s ring on his pinkie finger was what made up his mind: That ruby was a symbol of Beth’s solemn vow to him and it made him think about everything his female had done for him. In order to mate him, she’d put her faith, her heart, her future in him and his people, traditions, customs—turning away from her human side entirely, to the point where she had no contact with that race anymore, nothing outside him and his brothers, his job taking over both their lives.

She had gained much, sure. But she had lost everything she had ever known. And she’d done it for him, for them.

Right now, the most important thing was not the throne. No, it was living up to the standard she herself had set: He needed to put his signature where his mouth was. Even though he hated this whole f*cking thing, from the aristocrats and the Band of Bastards to the sense of loss that came with this piece of cocksucking paper, he had to honor what he’d told his Beth.

Her traditions were just as weighty and important as his own.

If he didn’t do this? He was treating her with the same disrespect the Council had.

And this was the most logical way to circumvent the glymera.

A nice little get-it-up-ya to their machinations.

“Where’s the pen?” he growled.

When Rehv put the thing in his dagger hand, he squeezed Beth’s palm. “Where do I do it?”

“Right here,” she said roughly. “Here.”

He let her lead the pen’s nib to where there must have been a line, and then he scribbled his name.

“What happens now?” he demanded.

Rehv laughed with a nasty edge. “I roll this little missive up and shove it where the sun don’t shine.” There was the rustling of parchment. “They called for the ‘crowning’ to happen at midnight. Fucking shame I have to wait until then. Come on, Saxton, you need some food. You look like you’re ready to collapse.”

Wrath glanced over at the silent, unmoving crowd. “Well. Are you people eating or what.”

As conversation jumped into the silence, like his brothers knew he needed the attention elsewhere, he took Beth’s arm.

“Get us out of here,” he said harshly.

“Roger that.”

With quick efficiency, his shellan led him away from the noise and the food, and when he caught a whiff of burning wood, he guessed she’d taken him over toward the library.

“Lie down, George,” she said as she pulled up short at what he guessed was the doorway. “I know, I know you don’t want to sit out here, but we need a minute.”

Good call, he thought as he dropped his hold and walked forward on his own, his dagger hand stretched out. When he felt the mantel, he wished he could see the banked fire. He wanted to poke something hot and make it sizzle.

A click-click told him she’d shut them in.

“Thank you,” his Beth said.

He turned around. “Back at you.”

“It’s going to be all right.”

“If you’re talking about the Band of Bastards, I wouldn’t be so sure. There’ll be another angle. We’ve bought some time, but not solved the problem.”

Man, the bitterness in his voice was so not him. But this situation had changed him.

Thank God his father was dead—and wasn’t that something he’d never imagined thinking— From behind him, Beth pressed herself against his body, her hands slipping up to his shoulders and rubbing the tight muscles. “It was a beautiful ceremony.”

He had to laugh. “Elvis did do a great job.”

“You know what’s customary for humans to do after they make it official?”

“What?”

As her arms slipped around his waist, she came around, rose up on her tiptoes and kissed the side of his throat. And what do you know, his mood started to improve.

“Consummation,” she murmured. “It’s traditional for the man and wife to seal the deal, if you know what I mean.”

Wrath started to smile, but then he remembered the last time they were together—and the circumstances. “Are you sure you’re ready for that after … well, you know.”

“Very sure.”

To prove the point, she rubbed herself against him, and he had to curse. Instantly starved, he nonetheless reeled that wild side in as he dropped his head and took his wife’s mouth.

“Pick me up,” she said on a sigh.

As he complied, she pulled the dress she was wearing to her waist, her legs splitting to go around his hips.